The Eyes Watching Your Back
by TheDarkFlygon
Summary: [Pre-UtK2, DerAng, H/C, sickfic of sorts] Angie's sharp eye isn't just to assist in operations, just as much as a nurse's mission exceeds the OR. You just wouldn't expect the nurse to have to take care of the surgeon she was assigned to.


When she started her career as a nurse, the first thing Angie Thompson's mentor and first doctor to assist, Dr Sarah Miller, told her was that doctors were much more illogical than they looked. Not that they were dumb, quite the opposite way around: they simply had skewed priorities due to how their brain worked due to their job. Angie didn't believe her at first. Doctors should have always had their priorities very much in check, right? It was part of their job, for goodness's sake!

But alas, as most of what Dr Miller had ever told her, the latter turned out to be right.

As a nurse, Angie was aware of everything around her. It was part of her job to always stay alert to whatever could be happening around her, especially when it involved patients. She always had eyes everywhere, every place she went, in every corner of the hospital she worked at and in every nook and cranny of the city, just in case someone needed her help. Naïve was the one who'd have thought she couldn't identify an ailment from a few yards. In a way, that was her own Healing Touch, or what was the closest to it. She may not have been able to slow down time like a certain surgeon she worked under, but it was most useful in some cases, especially in her profession. And it didn't drain her dry, which was a much welcome plus: watching Dr Stiles collapse seemingly out of nowhere after a successful surgery a while back had scared her _stainless_.

Speaking of the devil, her observant eyes had started taking up on some hints about her assigned surgeon's… predicament. She couldn't exactly tell why that was, but the feeling lingered in a part of her brain. Dr Stiles was obviously a goofball if she wasn't behind her back and if the staff at Caduceus wasn't constantly behind his back, and that was what had repulsed her at first (she'd have rather worked under a qualified and upmost serious surgeon such as Dr Kasal…), albeit he had grown over it. He was now a serious and hardworking surgeon, determined to save people's lives from biological weapon GUILT, focused and not even that whiny anymore. He truly had grown into someone respectable and always hard at work…

Perhaps a bit too much, in fact.

Coming from Angela "my work as a nurse is more important than literally anything else in my life" Thompson, that was _rich_ , and she knew it. However, she had a way to justify her reaction to what was currently going on in Caduceus USA. She really did, she promised, she wasn't just worried or paranoid or anything like that. She was just concerned about the general functioning of the building in case there was this one element which'd break and lead to catastrophic consequences in case GUILT patients came in… They had very little personnel capable of treating the disease. Moreover, it'd be that time of the year where people drove insanely because of the summer break, and there always were car crash victims sent down their way. She had all the reasons in the world to be more alert than at any other time of the year.

To make it short, she was staring at Dr Stiles any time she could without being spotted by him either. Would their head surgeon operating on GUILT patients be out cold, it'd be the worst thing, a grand-scale catastrophe for mankind. That was the one reason she worried about him. It wasn't personal, not at all, it was professional and for the greater good, just like a doctor and a nurse should always think of first. As an assistant, it was her mission to make sure the surgeon she assisted was doing his job properly too, so her eyes were also careful about that. She'd allow no slip-up from him, not when lives were constantly on the line in their own little life.

Angie had always had an eye for details and especially for spotting the little things most people would never notice in others. People would have called her nosy, but that constant stare at everything around her had saved lives before, and she intended for it to do so again in times where she couldn't fully trust who she was working with. Well, that was making Dr Stiles out to be a filthy incompetent, which he wasn't (at least, not anymore), but there was still something just wrong with him. Simply and plainly wrong.

First of all: his hair was even messier than usual. He had never been known for a neat and tidy hairstyle, but this was getting ridiculous and out of hand all the same. Second: his stance was getting weaker and weaker, and it wasn't rare for her to see him staggering against a wall after performing some GUILT surgeries. Third: even if he was scatter-brained to begin with, it was getting worse and worse by the hour. She wondered if he didn't forget his own name at times, because calling him out in front of everyone wasn't cutting it sometimes. That wasn't a thing normally-composed human beings in a good condition did, and this was the last hint she needed to diagnose something all by herself like the witty clever nurse she was: her assigned surgeon was, seemingly, overworking himself.

The Angie from a few months ago wouldn't have believed it. Mr Stiles, the lazy and unkept surgeon who'd abandon a patient for some conference, overworking himself to exhaustion? That wasn't happening during her lifetime. Even if she was stubborn, Angie had to give in to reality: that was probably and actually happening right around her eye's corner and she, well, she didn't know how to act upon it. Perhaps she could just yell at him to stop whatever he was doing and take a rest before they were an entire surgeon down for the duration of a fatigue-induced illness leave. That'd be the worst in times where GUILT was rampant and threatening to end countless innocent lives who had never asked for a painful death by internal lacerations, inside toxic fumes or a direct dive into the heart of an unnatural worm.

 _Oh_.

She had thought her eyes had been stealthy enough to avoid being detected by the entire staff of Caduceus when, one time, she was in the lounge picking up a cup of coffee for herself and a second for Dr Stiles (caffeine wasn't the best way to remediate to his growing exhaustion, but if he didn't drink it, she was afraid she'd be met with a grumpy surgeon, and that was the last thing she needed) before getting taken out of her thoughts.

"Tell me, Angie," Leslie's voice had made her rise her eyes from her cheap cup of coffee, "isn't there something on your mind lately?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't exactly know how to describe it, but… You seem more alert than usual, no?"

"I've been because of GUILT running wild. You never know if someone's going to get infected or when."

She thought back to how pale De… _Dr Stiles_ had looked when he had just learnt Dr Kasal had been infected with Tetarti. That lapsus was painful, even if it was just mental. It better have just been mental.

"That's true, but you seem to mainly focus on Derek, am I wrong?"

"W-what makes you think that?!"

Leslie's giggles didn't make her laugh for sure. The shriek must have been heard from a mile away, so she couldn't even deny her primal reaction and the lack of manners going with it. Oops, wasn't that just too bad?

"You keep looking in his direction, these days," she said with a gentle smile that slightly disappeared afterwards. "Are you concerned for him?"

"Concerned?" She wanted to scoff. Well, she guessed you could have said that… "I'm concerned about whether or not he'll be able to operate for much longer, but that's it. I'm concerned for the potential patients to come."

"By this, you mean you're afraid he's going to burn out or something like this?"

"You could say that…"

Leslie let out an amused giggle again.

"I have to assist Tyler soon, I'll leave you to it. Take care, Angie."

As she said so, she took her leave from the room, indeed letting her colleague alone in front of the coffee machine with two cups in her hands.

As it stood, Angie hadn't seen Dr Stiles today yet. It was a weird thing to notice, since she was used to arriving before him in their shared office, sighing to herself that his paperwork was still late as ever and how messy his desk always managed to get itself to be. To be fair, she had had to fill in some papers herself elsewhere before going to their office and, even then, she decided to bring them coffee while she was at it. She got far more surprised to see he wasn't there at all, before grumbling to herself again that he was late. Well, before correcting herself and realizing he could have very well been stuck in traffic jams and other city misadventures. She had gotten herself late in those before too, it was (for once) outside his power to help with it. No reason to get angry, so she sighed again, at herself this time around. She really needed to calm down on her impulsivity.

Come to think of it, she had a benign case of appendicitis to operate on later with Dr Stiles. By later, she meant that she had to start preparing right now: review the patient's chart, refresh her memory on the procedures to go, disinfect herself, putting on scrubs and helping Derek do his magic. Dammit, Dr Stiles. She meant to think _Dr Stiles_. Frequent slipups were pissing her off. She had let herself get distract for way too long by whatever was on her mind that she almost forgot what truly mattered in the grand scheme of things! And so she rushed her mind back into the surgery that had to happen soon.

As always, Angie managed to quick-start herself back into the swift of things. There was no time to lose on useless thinking and pointless dwelling, and there was a high probability she'd meet back with her surgeon near the OR, and they'd quickly discuss things out there before heading in for a new surgery that she'd make sure would go perfectly fine and end in a success. The patient's case wasn't much to be worried about: a twenty-something man affected with a case of appendicitis, who came in early enough for them not to have any complication. It'd be just fine, really, so why did she have a bad feeling about it all? There was no chance of GUILT being involved. They always made sure of so, these days, by testing every incoming patient with a Chiral reaction test to be one-hundred-percent sure. And her certainty about these things would lead her to her temporary fall.

Her astonishment when she saw Derek walk towards the operating room in shambles almost made her drop the patient's chart to the floor without her realizing it.

There was something within her that made her heart leap warmly in her throat, that something she could only link to a realization: she had been right to be weary all this time. Before her was the reason why her mind could never feel at ease whenever she was at Caduceus or even away from it when she knew Derek was still here, serving as a backup surgeon, looking over patient charts, filling that damn late paperwork.

And yet she had done nothing to stop it until now, until it was late. All she could do was to slip Dr Clarks, who was around, a hint about it and watch him take the operation over for them. He, too, knew this was all going to go terribly wrong would they follow that path.

"Dr Stiles," she forced her voice to sound stern and strong, almost cold, almost as hard as steel.

The doctor in question, a hand against the wall and a dripping smile on his face, rose his eyes to face her. Glassy eyes, she could see that from the other side of his glasses.

"Huh, hello, Angie… Sorry for being late, I had some… papers…"

Barely coherent speech patterns. Flushed face. Bags under the eyes, and bags under the bags. Obviously overworked and about to give in.

"Doctor, I'm afraid you'll have to skip on this surgery. Dr Clarks is taking care of it."

Her eyes quickly bolted to keep her surroundings in check. In her back, right near her dead angle, Dr Clarks nodding to her to confirm something and entering the OR. Before her, Dr Stiles still walking to her, his face not knowing whether to be surprised or be tired and done with everything in the world. He was stubborn, when he wanted to.

"What do you mean, Angie…? That's my patient, no…?"

"He was. Now," she replied as she walked to him with the least impatience she could show, "let's bring you back to your office and maybe even your place. You're in no condition to operate right now."

He rubbed his eye under his glass, but still refused to be held back to another part of the building, back against the wall. He really was making it difficult, wasn't he? Goddammit…

"I may be tired, but Mr Mark is my patient and a doctor… never abandons his patient. Y'should know that, Angie…"

His eyes were fluttering, but he still continued on shaking legs and in a hasty pace, feet staggering, heavy under the weight of crushing fatigue.

"It's Mr Monarc, Dr Stiles…!"

"C'mon, Angie, we need to operate…"

As soon as he attempted to give her his hand to encourage her to come, she slapped his wrist away from her. The anger was now boiling in her veins, an anger she now knew was born out of pure worry. She was far less worried for patients than she was for him at the moment and, now that she was finally honest with herself and in terms with the fact she was worried such a goofball, she had to stop him in his tracks.

And that was why she let herself yell.

She gripped his wrist right as he was about to walk past her, skin hot under her fingers, sweat forcing her to clutch harder as to keep her grip on the situation.

"Dr Derek Stiles, I _insist_ on the fact you're in no condition to operate and, as your assistant, I cannot allow you to operate in such a condition! If you don't comply, I'll be forced to witness you collapse on the job, putting a patient at risk and forcing us to send you to Hope Hospital! Nobody here needs that, so stop being selfish and take a break! Understood?!"

That had escalated quickly for sure…

"B-but…"

"There's no buts, Dr Stiles! This isn't a GUILT victim either, so any other surgeon can take care of it!"

Derek opened his mouth to respond something after staying agape for a few moments.

"I…"

He gave in right before he could tell her anything else, prompting her to recover his now-limp body in her arms. Goddammit. He was a yo-yo, one day too lazy to properly care for patients, another pushing himself to collapsing for the very same patients.

And there was no doubt about the fact she'd have to take care of him if she wanted to, once again, keep in check. What a _handful_.


End file.
